Burn With Me
by hp-not harry potter
Summary: Begins where the book ended.Charlie goes to tell her story to Rolling Stone offices and get rid of the shop.However there are alot of twists and turns for her lurking on the way and after it.Who is Shop's new leader?what's up ahead for Charlie?Read know
1. prologue

**Burn with me**

**Prologue **

**New York, April 1983**

Jeremiah Wanner looked around his new, big, sun bathed office apartment and sighed deeply; not in relief. He was bored now, bored and doing nothing with his old, silver, dusty typewriter. He liked the typewriter more than the computer, it was warmer, more traditional and it had the sound of inspiration.  
Jeremiah needed that sound.  
All the stories the past year had been tremendously interesting but had a reasonable explanation that made sense.

(_Those he actually enjoyed, but were less serious for him and he enjoyed reading them, not writing them)._

Those were not his main subjects of interest.

(_Those were reserved for the interesting supernatural or doubtful stories)_.

The only story in the past year or so that had caught his eye and had seemed supernaturally unusual had been the firebombs explosion caused by terrorists which occurred in Longmont Virginia, in a government scientific facility. And _that_, was a fake goddamn terrorist attack, Jeremiah knew. He had been in the job too long not to know. There were too many loopholes in the story. He suddenly felt as if he should call his private secretary a few neighborhoods down to check if there was anything about that. Thirty six year old Jeremiah liked to write the most interesting stories himself. True, he had once shared his passion for it with the magazine's co owner and founder Ralph Gleason but since his death eight years ago,

(_Which Jeremiah got over only six years earlier)_

Jeremiah liked to work alone. He picked up the phone and rang. He had to wait five rings until the receptionist

(_Oh! The nerve that woman had! )_

finally passed him on to his private secretary who in turn read him the list of stories and then the list of personal appointments with him that people had scheduled. He stopped her on the seventh one, an appointment due next week (_yes he saw someone else every day_).

It was an appointment with one Charlene McGee, a nine-year-old anxious little girl, who wanted to tell her story no matter what or so his secretary described her. And, he suspected, she had something to do with the occurrence. Jeremiah always liked a good challenge, and a nine-year-old girl telling a long awaited story sounded like a damn good challenge to him. He quickly moved her appointment with him to two days instead of a week. He picked up his coffee mug and sipped it gleefully, then heaved a great sigh of relief, awaiting his daily meeting.

* * *

_She was in that stable when he _

_, (Oh, that horrible, horrible man!),_

_fired two bullets at her father, the sickening noise of flesh exploding; Her own father's flesh.  
Then the fury.  
Her own horrible fury. The sound of flames eating John RainBird alive and dodging her own death. Then, her father's very last words. Yes, she would destroy the shop. She would do it for him. The flames of her fury and the death and smell of burning flesh. Then the duck pond; her savior. _

_She had killed so many._

_Finally, the worst part came when that woman called _

_(She hated the woman now, so much!) _

_her a witch, an evil witch…_

_It had scarred her more than anything else and suddenly the woman lost her eye, changed shape and became Charlie's own monster, the one monster that won and died by her flames, smiling … _

Nine-year-old Charlie McGee sat up in her bed in the cheap motel room she stayed in, enveloped with cold sweat running down her body, a small twinkle of horror and fear in her eyes. It took her a moment to realize where she was, in the motel, in her room, in New York, five blocks from the skyscraper that contained Rolling Stone newspaper office. It was two days since she had first gone up the elevator in the skyscraper to reach the publication office; Two days since she scheduled that personal appointment with Jeremiah Wanner in a week's time. She got up slowly from her bed with a slight sense of nausea at first. Then she gradually walked to the bathroom and took a long, long, warm shower,

(_Just like in Hastings Glen)_

to calm her down; letting the water slide slowly over her shoulders.

Back then in the motel at Hastings she was only seven. Innocent, afraid and not very sure of wrong and right.

Two years had passed now. She was nine an a half now, a year and a half separating her from ten; maybe just a few weeks more than that.

Charlie exited the shower, put on her clothes, brushed her teeth and went down to the motel breakfast. As she sat, eating her butter spread toast, a man came to her. He was rather round at the belly, wearing thick round spectacles round his shaved, balding head. He spoke in a friendly and excited babble and she noticed his eyes were full of smile. He told her that a certain receptionist called from Rolling Stone offices and told him to give her a message, that her appointment had just been rescheduled, so instead of five days Charlie would only have to wait two.

* * *

In the Healing Hearts Hospital in Longmont Virginia, in the dire burns and bruises department, on a wide bed, lay James Hollister, a transparent breathing tube/wire connected to his mouth and nose. He was in a coma, a few months now, a bloody bullet wound in his belly and quite a few burns on the side of his torso.

After the fire at the shop had started, someone had thought of going back to the stable and get the unconscious Cap through the flames to safety; his secretary Julia, no doubt. Suddenly his eyes flew open in shock and fear as if waking from a dream. He looked around him, then at the transparent breathing tube connected to his mouth and nose. In an instant, a yell came from his bed waking many other patients and alerting some doctors: "Snake! SNAKE! SANAAYYYKE!"

One bed away, a patient named Leon, who was in a similar state of coma caused by a poisonous snakebite, stirred.

Return to Top


	2. snake

**Disclaimer: All the characters so far belong to Stephen the genius King besides Jeremiah, Leon's actual character and not just his name and Gloria's surname Deloring.**

**Burn with me**

**Snake**

**Healing Hearts Hospital, Longmont, Virginia**

Gloria Deloring looked around for a full fifteen minutes, finally finding a decent, yet suspiciously private space for her slightly used, old, bronze colored new 1979 Lincoln. In the not so distant past, she had barely the money for an old, smelly used 1975 Trabant, which she had taken a bank loan in order to afford. Now with the huge promotion from secretary to the head of the Shop, she had all resources at her command, even if that meant hundreds of thousands of dollars for car shopping at her choice. At first she protested it was a waste of money. Then they told her how much money the Shop sponsors gave them and that they insisted that the new head of the shop could hardly drive one of the announced worst cars for all time for work. That had shut her up. Then again, she would have given up everything as long as Cap waked from his coma. She got out of the car, locked the doors, made sure she had not forgotten anything in the car, which she had, her phone, locking the car doors again and made her way to the blinding white, renaissance type, column filled building that was the hospital. In two minutes she was in the big, fancy, gold encrusted, mirror walled, scarlet carpeted elevator. As she made her way to Cap's hospital ward she heard terrible screams that for some reason sounded so damn familiar. Upon entering the room, a terrible sight welcomed her.

* * *

_He had only been eight back then, young and wonderfully innocent, oblivious to the dangers of the world, when he had entered the family stables to visit the horses. After he patted them, fed them and spoke to them a little, he decided to take a nice nap on a big, comfortable looking, golden sunned haystack. He had fallen asleep with pleasant fresh smells of timothy, clover and hay around him, dreams of nature and pleasantness covering him. He did not notice nor suspect anything was amiss. When he awoke, his three year old, much as innocent brother James had just entered the red and white building. Suddenly Leon noticed something green and slithery sliding on his leg, making its way up his body and towards his calf. Leon was now sweaty and fearful as he realized, with no little horror, that it was a snake now crawling up his flesh. He shouted to his brother, no, screamed to him, agony and fear in his voice, to get their father to come and help. By the time his father had arrived, Leon had already received the agonizing bite of the snake, the pain running through him rapidly. It was no serious bite, however due to the fact that the snake had already exercised his fangs and emptied them upon a different helpless creature a while back. By the time the doctor had tended to Leon's wound, and had rendered it a minor injury, the snake itself had already escaped back into the wild, never to be seen again._

_Yet it had scarred both himself and his little brother forever, leaving a snake bite in Leon's calf and a scar in James's soul._

Leon awoke with a start, cold sweat coming down his back, his last memory being when he was eight, in the stables. Then as he got used to the bright light, white surroundings and white coats everywhere, he realized where he was and who he was yet did not perceive to how he had got there.

Then a sharp noise louder than before pierced his ears in pain. It was a scream, one with a word, a pattern and a voice he could never mistake, his little brother. At first, he thought he was hallucinating, but the startled doctors made that assumption disappear. Then he realized the noise was closer than he had thought, much closer. It was right next to him really. He looked to his left realizing to his shock, that his little brother who was celebrating his sixtieth birthday that year was in the bed next to him, ripping and destroying his oxygen mask pipe thingy, he could not remember its name. Wait a moment he thought…

His brother was choking himself. Probably out of confusion, thinking his breathing equipment was a slithery, transparent snake. Suddenly an elegant, twenty eight year old woman entered the room dressed in an Italian, brownish beige, specially designed business suit. As the doctors rushed to his brother, Leon knew they would be too late. Leon himself attempted and succeeded in climbing from his bed and proceeded to coming to the aid of his brother and saving him from himself. Yet as he neared James, Cap was already breathing in very shallow breaths. As he finally looked into James's eyes, his brother said one word: "Lenny?" and then he died.

* * *

Gloria walked into the room upon the horrible sight. The first thing that she perceived from her position at the door and away from the incident was that her former boss, Captain James Hollister, was trying to destroy his breathing aiding equipment and in other less subtle words, choking himself. She froze unable to move but only to observe. It was one of her rare, almost never occurring, unforeseeable and almost completely forgotten panic attacks. Strange, she thought. It had not happened to her when she saw the building in flames which her employer had entered and when she leaped into the flames to save him. Next, she observed the man lying in the cot next to him stirred. He was, most absurdly, an older and more handsome version of cap, she mused.

Then the man, who was obviously in a coma a second ago, rose from his bed with great strength and looked around. He saw her and just for a moment their eyes met, his, cold ice blue ones and hers, warm brown affectionate ones. Then he averted his gaze to the left and saw her boss, struggling and fighting. The man's face changed to shock and recognition and he stumbled out of the bed in a hurry. He knelt next to Cap's bed trying to assist him and hold his hands. Gloria did not know how much longer her boss could survive without his breathing device that kept him alive for the past few months. Suddenly Cap looked at the man kneeling next to him and recognition overcame him. He parted his lips and uttered one word, his glance hopeful. She could not hear the word but she guessed the tone was one of question. Then as soon as he had uttered the word, he stopped breathing.

* * *

Once his brother died, Leon started crying, crying silent, deadly tears that stung his mouth with their bitter salty taste. It was a wonder to him as to why he could not cry at his parents' funeral yet how now he could empty his heart here in a sterile hospital ward. Through his tears, he could see the woman whom his eyes met with, snap out of her waking coma and approach him. He at once observed that she as well was in grief of the incident for tears were already starting to form in her eyes as well. She knelt next to him and taking out a handkerchief from her right pocket, she wiped the tears from his pale, olive skinned face and proceeded to swallow down hers. "Gloria Deloring" she offered her hand. "I used to work for your, brother, I am guessing." "Yes" he answered. "My brother, I am Leonard Hollister. It is nice to meet you, or at least it would have been nice under different circumstances. I just woke from a goddamn coma, to this. I really do wish I could have spent more time with him. By the way what year is it?" It took her a moment to perceive all the information he had just given her and replay. "Nineteen eighty three" she said.

"Fuck!" he cursed. "Four years wasted. Four years which I lost and could have spent with my brother but for that damned African snake!" he said. She took it all in and then made a decision. "Would you like to come with me for a cup of coffee? So maybe we can talk a little. Maybe even about your brother." The question seemed to come to him as a shock, and for a second he wondered, for the second time that day, if it was all a dream or hallucination. Before his coma, no woman had asked to sit with him for ten years, not since his scandalous divorce. A second later, he regained his senses and the reason she mentioned for the talk. After another moment's hesitation, he accepted her invitation and together they silently left the hospital

(Not without confirmation of his remarkable recovery from a doctor and permission of leave),

and made their way for the quiet and lonely '_Café the triste'_ downstairs.


	3. windsucker

**Burn with me**

**Windsucker**

**New York 7:30. am. **

New York City lay in a vile of silent fog in the early hours of the morning, its streets already crowded at seven already. In one particular Street, a young girl of nine made her way in the crowded avenues of the city towards the Rolling stone offices located in Ave of the Americas. She walked warily down the street, keeping an eye on every human being in sight, something that seemed easy and natural to her since a third of her life she had been a runaway with her father and then alone. She walked slowly and casually on the sidewalk, making sure she was as imperceptible as possible. This extended to almost paranoia as she watched back, side and front at the same time without being cross-eyed; it would have been funny but for the current situation, that one of the most secretive government organizations in the US was chasing her; she knew it.

Suddenly out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man who looked very unfamiliar in the surroundings, watching her from a side alley. He wore a grey camouflage uniform, complete with all the army gear. His skin was a tanned dark, looking just a bit pale, perhaps of fear. Yet she seemed to have missed all of that, because her gaze was intent on his right hand, where he brandished a dusty windsucker gun. She was not afraid, of any gun.  
None save that one, that one was a special gun; not on its own, of course. But in the company of that man the man she

(The Juice! Run! Run! Don't get juiced! I don't want to die!)

recognized as Orville Jamieson, it was terrifying. They met each other's eyes and both understood what would happen next. She started running.  
He followed.

* * *

Orv Jamieson looked anxiously at his boss; the _female_. He would not take orders from her. That is why she introduced him to the elder Hollister. OJ had respect for that man. Straight from four years of coma to co boss of the shop. It was admirable. Mr. L. Hollister looked like a sensible man. He would understand. Unfortunately, for The Juice, he did not. "You're either participating or going to jail. You choose. I would advise the former," the sixty five year old man hissed venomously. Orville looked from left to right at the man and the woman tiredly. He felt like he did when the younger Hollister had presented him with the same choice nine years ago. It was also the same circumstances back then, tracking the runaway McGee. Only then, it was _McGees-_ plural.

"So let get this straight," he said. "You want me to track the remaining McGee, kill her or catch her alive, bring her here and get out of it alive. Although, you probably don't care on me being alive. Well I will not. Id' been in jail and I don't care visiting as long as I'm staying away from that girl. I've seen what she can do. I've been on the goddamn Manders' farm. I've been here when she wrecked it here too. I am not going!" He bellowed, cradling his windsucker.

"Perhaps I'm not making this clear," said Gloria. "We are not talking county prison. We are talking Shop jail. We are talking Wanless experiments lab style. He is dead but we can find some other mad nut. Now you choose."

The Juice gulped. "Do I get protective gear?" he asked frightened.

Gloria smiled. "A fireproof military jumpsuit complete with fireproof helmet, gloves and boots. And a special transparent ointment that makes the skin fireproof."

OJ looked suspicious and hesitant for a sec but soon gave it up. He knew what happened to shop officers who refused Gloria Deloring; she was not a woman to meddle with.

* * *

Two hours later, Orv was on a plane for Manhattan. It was a good place to start as any, and he had always wanted to see the big apple. He was quite uncomfortable on his sit and could not sit still for his life, all because his "_family jewels"_ hurt. The scientists had sprayed the itchy ointment in a can everywhere where there was skin, even unexposed. And he meant e_verywhere_.  
He crossed his legs still in pain, earning comical looks from passers by in the aisle. During the flight, one flight attendant even offered him some warm nuts, and chuckled. A ferocious look from him shut her up. The rest of the flight was rather uneventful. When he arrived who was to great him but Miss Deloring herself. He wondered how she had arrived at the airport before him but dismissed the thought when he remembered just who she was. With all his sexism and he had a lot of it, he knew that if there was one woman who could do anything it was Gloria Deloring; the woman who had burst into the flames just so she could save the boss who treated her like crap. He may have been sexist but his teacher was James Hollister. In her hands, she held his fireproof jumpsuit, gray and boring for action. As she waited for him outside, he realized with a grunt that the jumpsuit was just one size too small for him. Yet, there was no other suit. He wore it with a little difficulty and with a lot of cursing and discomfort only to realize that its tightest point was at the crotch. More pain for his "_sensitives"_. He could swear that outside he was hearing Gloria lift her mouth muscles into a smirk. This would not do, not at all. And, he was supposed to run in it, for god's sake! Even if he had wanted children, he was not sure he could have them now.

* * *

Charlie ran as fast as she could; not towards the Rolling Stone press or Wanner's apartment but around it and through all other buildings in 52nd St doing her best to confuse her pursuer while still remembering the way. She had been in New York for two weeks before coming to Rolling Stone Press and she had studied the city well enough, along with a map, to know where she was going. Of course, it was all overly difficult in the beginning. She had trouble reading the names of the streets and had to ask many people the street names. She suspected it was something her dad once spoke to her

("_Dileksia" _daddy called it.)

about. She tried to ignore the growing panic as she fled the WindSucker. She focused on nothing in particular but instead on all that surrounded her. She just could not think on anything singular, could not focus on anything. Suddenly she ran into a big crowd of people, the fountain close by. Despite the situation, she smiled. She would be lost in the crowd. She then made her way into several different alleys and streets to confuse the pursuer. When she looked back, he was not there. She focused on looking behind her, using her detail observation. When she finally accepted that he was not behind her, she made her way to the Rolling Stone press and Wanner's apartment. It was only a five-minute walk from here.  
Little did she consider that the agent would not necessarily be behind her but above.

From his place on the roof of one of the sky scrapers Orville Jamieson watched with his binoculars Charlie go towards Rolling Stone Press.


	4. Bullets

**Burn with me**

**Bullets**

**New York 6:00 am**

_A middle-aged man_

_(Hey! That's Ralph!)_

_dressed in an expensive white suit, steps forward into the room, a well-stocked office of gray. Another man, of the same age, motions to him to sit. White suit sits down. Can't hear what they say. _

_Then the dream shifts._

_Now the white suit man is struggling with two black clad men near a lake. The men beat him down and tie him up. _

_The dream shifts again. _

_A bloodied man, the white suit, is in the water, tied in chains by the legs. Bricks attached. The man tries to struggle of his chains; the air begins to run out. Suddenly the man stops struggling; unconscious. The bricks pull him down, down, down into the welcoming waves of death. _  
_Suddenly a telephone rings. It does not stop; continues on and on and on. _  
_He can tell it is not part of the dream, drilling into his mind in a repeating annoyance. _

Jeremiah woke up, sweating and gasping like a fish out of the water.  
He looked around his office bedroom making sure everything was real.  
He had a buzzing in his ears; would not stop. At that moment he realized, the phone really was ringing, loudly. He looked at the clock beside his bed.  
Then grunting and cursing like a well-trained sailor knowing very well that the only person who could make a phone call so early in the morning was his wife.  
For the past week, she was fuming over a fight he had already forgotten.  
With not many choices, he had escaped to his office apartment.  
He answered the phone; despite the warning sirens his brain was sending him, just to stop the ringing.  
A moment later and he regretted answering the phone as the new, more annoying; buzzing of his wife's angry chatter flooded his ears.

"Jeremiah, Elijah, Wanner! You had better have a fucking explanation! And an apology while you're at it, ready right now for how you behaved last week, and don't you dare tell me you don't remember what you did on Friday!" She shouted.

He put a small distance between the phone and his ear for a few seconds. Covering the noise piece of his end of the telephone, he sighed then muttered quietly  
"I can't believe she kisses me with that mouth."

A second later he had his second regret for the morning as the muffled voice of his wife boomed "You idiot! Think I didn't hear that? Well guess again, Smartass, you're holding the phone upside down and I can hear every… fucking… word! Dumbass! "

He cowered at her words and fixed the phone in his hand to the right position, then spoke very gently and smoothly to his wife, a tone reserved just for her; proved to bring the best in her "I am so sorry sweetie. Really I am. I don't know what came over me, maybe I was just a little drunk, and you know me and alcohol."

"You have no fucking idea what I'm talking about now do you? Let me remind you, shall I? At Friday dinner, you acted like an asshole next to the children and the guests, and the guests were your bloody associates! I mean I don't know what came over you!" she said in her beautiful voice, the one that he loved so much and at the same time feared.

"You know what," she continued "how about this. You return from your office apartment, and yes I know where you fucking are so shut up, and buy me seeds for a beautiful Madonna lily and I'll forgive your fat lazy butt."

He sighed and brushed the sweat off his brow "I can't 'till noon hon', but I promise that then I'll come to you and climb your balcony with a bag of seeds under my left arm and a bouquet of flowers under my right. Promise sugar."

"Fine, but don't you sugar me. Call me by my name you dillhole."

"–K, sug- I mean Katherine, I'll call you by your name kitten. Oh and I love you voice when you swear."

"What was that?" the voice threatening more than usual asked.

"N-nothing, love you, gotta run, Bye!"

On the other end of the line the woman grinned widely and chuckled.

He hung up and sighed in relief, glad the conversation was over. He looked at his clock; quarter past six, amazing how time flew when you feared for your life.

_One hour, thirty-three minutes and Three cups of coffee later…_

She was late. _His _client, interviewee, story, was late. Sure, she was nine, but come on… he _was _J. E. Wanner. No one but his wife could afford to be late, and his wife was never late.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Come in" he called from his open conference room.  
Greeting him from the door was a young, clean-shaven man with neat black hair, dressed in a black Italian suit and brandishing a semi-automatic pistol. "Can I help you?" asked Wanner in surprise, yet not alarm; he himself having such a weapon in his desk drawer.

"Yes, yes you can" said the man politely and fired.

* * *

Charlie heard the gunshots as she approached the building; a few seconds between each one.

_Bang… bang, bang, bang, bang …bang, bang ,bang, bang… bang… bang, bang, bang, bang, bang_

The temperature in the area of Charlie and around her suddenly grew slightly higher, and seconds later several rubbish bins in the area began catching on fire spontaneously.

(No! concentrate on something else, something else, something else!)

A minute later and the fire in the rubbish bins was put out while a water from a cleaner's water bucket at a top of a skyscraper turned to steam. She knew not where the shots were coming from but due to her previous experience of five minutes earlier, she guessed it had something to do with her.  
Sure, this was New York and the shooting could be from any one of the giant skyscrapers, but she had enough reasons to doubt that fact.  
Making sure she was alone, she walked over to an abounded yet working phone booth. She concentrated her power,

(Don't let it escape, not again, not again! Remember big bad little bad, big bad little baddie! Big bad, little bad!)

and within a second opened her paper bag underneath the machine; letting the quarters drop inside.  
She then deposited one of the quarters back in the machine and dialed nine one one.

* * *

_Seven minutes earlier, Top of a skyscraper_

OJ put down his binoculars and breathed deeply.  
It was OK. He now knew where she was going and knew her purpose.  
Of course, Gloria did not send him alone. He had a two men backup.  
One had followed close behind him but had stayed at ground level watching the girl.  
The man's name was Andrei, a bad shot with poor eyesight and no glasses, but he would be useful. For one, Andrei was a brilliant strategist and a master with a knife.

Yet, the point of sending him was not to kill. Therefore, he did not have a knife. He had a gun, which would be useful even with his eyesight.  
The point was to scare the _stone _CEO, not to kill him.  
OJ took out the Walkie-talkie and handed Andrei his instructions.  
He knew Andrei would get there before the girl.  
After that, Mr. Wanner would not want to talk with McGee.

* * *

The bullet hit Jeremiah in the shoulder and he was knocked off his feet; falling to the floor.  
He was conscious yet did not make a move. Pretending he was dead would be smart enough for the time being.  
He bit his lip to hold out the scream of pain from his shoulder and the moment it started to open wider, the second rapid fire came.  
One shot missed him by an inch, and he quickly got to his feet and started running.  
Another shot missed him and he thanked god.  
Eying his desk, he used the rush of adrenaline to push him forward and jump over it to the other side.  
A bullet finally caught him while he was jumping and he screamed in agony as his rear end bled.  
Another bullet fired, missing him yet again.  
He landed behind his desk with his face down and stayed where he was for several seconds.  
The bullets stopped and he glanced just at the top of his desk to the door.  
When the assassin saw him, he crouched back down while four more bullets fired at his desk and he thanked himself for choosing the thick oak one.  
He opened his lowest desk drawer from underneath, getting another bullet near his finger.  
From within he took his own gun, and took his opportunity while the other man loaded his gun.  
He fired five times.  
Two of the bullets missed, one brushed the other man's coat, one caught him on his leg and the man staggered.  
Jeremiah fired the last bullet, one that finally hit its target fully and the man flew backwards as the bullet buried itself in his ribs.  
Jeremiah then lost consciousness from the loss of blood realizing with his last thought that the McGee meeting was more than he thought it was.


	5. Hospitals

**Burn with me**

**Hospitals**

Catherin Wanner was not a patient woman, not when she decided to marry her practically penniless intern boyfriend, not on their honeymoon, not with spending money and most definitely not with decisions at all, when they came. At least that was the public eye saw. However she really was a patient, caring and cunning woman who spent very long a time thinking and considering her decisions, then let the public assume she had done everything in a rush (though she was decisive and adaptive to different situations without so much another thought when that course of action was needed).  
So yes, she was a little bit quick with situations but then again all her decisions proved true. Her "penniless boyfriend" was now a CEO of a large company that made lots of money, she had two beautiful children (one appeared mysteriously nine months after the honeymoon), she was a successful mother and the police left her alone about passing the speed limits (all rush decisions mentioned above).  
However she considered by herself that throwing the phone at the wall, after being told her husband was in the hospital for minor injuries was a bad idea. _Minor_ was the key word. Driving at an even more insane speed than usual was very clever; not when there was an opportunity to die at that speed while on your way to the is to burst through the hospital room door, march to your husband's bed, sit very close next to him then shout: what the fuck were you thinking? Then again, Mrs. Wanner was very unreasonable at certain situations; especially when her favorite person in the world was being involved, for despite the hard time she gave him, Cathy Wanner really did love her husband. Of course, a second later, he woke up and she began yelling again.

* * *

When the ambulance and police arrived, Charlie stayed in the shadows, hiding. It was one risk to call the police when you are wanted, it is quiet another to hand yourself over to them and the government on a silver platter. She waited until the ambulance left, then walked over to the phone booth (her personal penny ATM) and from there caught a taxi to the nearest hospital where she was sure the_ stone_ CEO stayed. When she arrived he was still unconscious and she sat on a chair close to the bed; one of the three deposited next to it. She was there, unnoticed when the raging blonde arrived; the man's wife, she assumed. She did yell strong enough for the part. Mr. Wanner awoke with a start, gazing round him attentively. For the first time the woman noticed Charlie. She truly adored children and had a soft spot for them, yet the presence of so thin and sickly looking a girl alarmed her.

"Who are you dear?" she asked softly.

Jeremiah answered the question for her. "That would be my client, the girl I had an appointment with before the shooting. It's Charlie isn't it?"

Charlie nodded.

"It was you who called the ambulance weren't it? That was very brave of you. Do you want me to mention it to the cops maybe?" he asked.

Suddenly her light skin paled even more, her voice became strained.  
"No no, please don't. I came specifically to your paper for a reason, not any big shot ones."

Jeremiah nodded. He understood completely. Having no connections to the government could be an advantage at times.

"Do you want the interview here?" he asked.

"No. I need somewhere more private. Maybe we can do it once you get well, and out of here."

He nodded. "Then don't worry. You won't have to wait long. He only got me on the shoulder. I might even get out of here tonight."

"But the doctor said you had two wounds." Said Catherine; frowning.

Jeremiah blushed.

"No, no, just one. Believe me. I'm sure."

"Maybe you just can't feel it"

"Oh no, Believe me I can feel it alright."

"Then where is it?" she asked, less patient now.

"Right, I think we've talked enough about me right now. Anybody else?"

"I need to go. When you get out of here, call the Flatotel Bed and Breakfast. I am staying there; room 10."She had moved there that morning, via phone. Very small but luckily very close to the magazine _and_ expected pennies as payment. It was amazing really, how much New Yorkers used public phones. So many pennies to use, and they were only little baddies. She had to move. The shop knew she was there. She could not stay in the same place for too long. The shooting had proved that. Giving him the number, Charlie left the hospital in a nearby cab.

* * *

Orv was confused. He had done exactly what the bosses wanted. His superiors had told him; he found McGee, scared the CEO of the magazine and got rid of his partner so he could never talk or so much as collect his paycheck. He had save the government tons of cash. Why were they so angry?

(What they want of me? Like a fucking woman, you can never please her!)

He was now sitting in the otherwise abounded waiting room. The secretary suddenly got up of her seat. She was a new one, and sadly was not a good

(The woman's an old cow!)

looker either. Well he had to at least try some decent speech with her.  
"So why did her majesty get up off her royal fat arse to talk with a peasant like me?"  
The woman wisely dismissed the comment as one coming from a wild boar.  
"The boss will see you now…_  
You big double butted pig." _she muttered under her breathe.  
She did have her dignity however.  
Orv walked into the big oaken doors, in the way spitting on the

(Fat cow boar piece of rotting flesh!)

woman's shoes.  
Unfortunately for him, he was at that time already in plain sight of Co- Captain L. Hollister.  
"Just… what… do you think… you're doing?" Snapped the Shop's second in command, slowly and threatening.  
His voice was chilling ice, freezing Orv's every last vein and flow of blood.

"I… I…ah… um… well…"

The older Hollister's eyes never moved or fazed from Orv's face.

"Sit down" he said.

It was not a question.  
Orv quickly sat in the spare chair across from his boss's.

"If you ever insult a woman within my presence ever again, I will make sure to find you a new, personal 'RainBird. I have heard quite a lot about him really. I am sure so have you."

Orville Jamieson shuddered both internally and visibly. He was truly afraid for his life at this point.

"Good. Now, you are probably wondering as to why you are here. You completed the task as _we _have asked you to. Technically, you succeeded wonderfully. Practically however you failed completely. According to my resources, and they are reliable, after the shooting the reporter is not scared of us but rather he is even more eager to proceed with the story. That in itself is a failure; Secondly, McGee. Yes, you found her, but you also lost her. We do not know where exactly she is staying and you did not find out; also, as for your dead partner. Apparently he had locked documents and plans on his computer concerning McGee, that we need and the computer an only be accessed with a password,  
which we do not have. Find me the documents by 19:00 today and I will not put you in your own personal hell.  
Sounds fair? No? Well, too damned bad! Get on with it!"

Orville Jamieson was stunned and with no words to express his feeling. He just sat there, his mouth opened wide in a perfect O in amazement for a minute and a half until his employer once again reminded him to leave and call him at seven.

* * *

First, he sat there, staring at the computer for a whole ten minutes in silence.  
Then cursed it.  
Calmed himself, cursed some more.  
He just kept staring into the computer screen as if it would give him its password willingly.  
It did not.  
Then he remembered Dr. Noftzieger.  
Friedrick Noftzieger, chief of computers at the Shop.  
Few knew of his existence; fewer still remembered it.  
He quickly made a phone call to his office.

The whole process in itself took about eight hours, hard work. First, an hour to get through to him, after talking to the secretary and being put on hold. Then another hour and a half to convince him. After that, it cost Orv a raise given to the doctor and finally he had a deal at one pm.  
Then it turned out that since the "terrorist attack" the shop has separated into two separate buildings, Noftzieger being at neither of them; he worked from home, no car.  
A half hour drive and finally Noftzieger was there.  
Then, cracking Andrei's password seemed harder; another half hour.  
After that, three more surprise passwords; another three hours.  
Then finding where the documents were on the computer. Another hour and a half or so and redemption came.  
Three minutes to seven, he called Hollister.

* * *

Leon tapped his fingers on the table impatiently.  
It was 18:45. The moron only had fifteen minutes left.  
It was not wise to be late for L. Hollister.  
It had only been a week.  
A week since little Jim's death, a week from his talk with the person who was now like a daughter to him, a week since waking from his coma to this real world of events and tragedies.  
It had been the longest week of his life. He was suddenly thrown into a silent trance, remembering and finally dealing with the sad and serious talk of the Café- The -Triste.  
Gloria had led him to the coffee shop downstairs and told him to sit down. The chairs were rusty and full of dust; so was everything else in the café. It had been absolutely deserted, save the one sad waiter, who Leon suspected was the owner as well; crumpled, old and sad as he was.  
For a while they sat in silence.  
The waiter left them alone and retreated to the kitchen. Probably making a little meal for himself.  
Then she had started talking. She cut straight to the chase. She asked the questions first.  
"What are you doing here?", "how did you end up in a coma?" "Were you and your brother close?", "what's your profession?"  
Although initially surprised by the last, he answered them all truthfully. He was a colonel in the army, he went to Africa for a while after he retired, was bitten by an escaped, zoo, Viper when there; was transported here. He and his brother were very close as both worked for their country and had the same morals. According to him, they were twins with a five-year age difference. Then she answered his unspoken inquires.  
She told him all. About the sources of the McGee project, the search for the McGees, their capture and finally the great the investigation of the events, proceeding the fire and what led to his brother's death.  
Then, she recruited him as her second in command. Now in his office and tapping his fingers he jostled awake. Of thing was sure though, the McGee family killed his brother, the killer was dead. The closest person to the killer would have to pay; that someone was Charlene McGee.

Whether he knew it or not, and nobody else did, in that moment he lost every last fiber of morality within him; his one goal in life now being vengeance.


End file.
